


call him love

by artenon



Series: Steter Week 2020 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Family Feels, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Pack Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artenon/pseuds/artenon
Summary: Maybe it was just finally sinking in that this was his life now, and that it was good. The last of the Hales… and him. Stiles used to wonder where he fit in that picture, especially as he watched them come together over the months, old relationships repairing and new ones growing.He still didn’t know where he fit, or how, but at that moment he knew with certainty that he did belong. That this was his family, for better or for worse.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Malia Tate
Series: Steter Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856551
Comments: 58
Kudos: 651
Collections: Steter Week 2020





	call him love

**Author's Note:**

> side pairings: mentioned malia/kira
> 
> frankly i do not know how i wrote this fic as quickly as i did—fueled by my intense love of pack feelings and fluff, probably.
> 
> this was written for steter week's day 6 prompt "pack of two (or few)" and it also hits the day 4 prompt "supernatural symposium"! this fic is more or less canon compliant up to the end of 3B, except cora doesn't exist in this universe (sorry) but derek still isn't an alpha anymore anyway.
> 
> thank you to [blacktreecle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktreecle) and [ailurea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea) for always being quick and wonderful betas when i'm impatient to post fic, HA.

Stiles didn’t realize someone was in the room with him until he was being yanked back in his chair. He yelped and threw both hands out to grab the edge of his desk. He succeeded, but then his chair was pulled out from under his butt and Stiles crashed to the floor in an ungainly heap.

He rolled over with a grunt. “Malia. Hi. You know you can use your words, right?”

She shrugged with her hands on her hips. “I said your name, you didn’t respond.”

“Yeah, well, that happens sometimes when I’m focused on what I’m doing.” He scrambled to his feet. “You could’ve tried again.”

“Why? It was faster this way.”

Her delivery was completely deadpan, but Stiles just knew she was amused. He could practically hear it, the laugh simmering beneath the surface, and he glared at her without much heat because he liked her anyway. “Okay, well, the other way ends in less bruises for me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Malia said. “Also, dinner’s ready.”

Was it that late already? Stiles had been holed up in his room since getting back from class, working on his midterm essay, and while he could’ve sworn it’d only been a couple hours, glancing at the time on his laptop confirmed that it’d actually been over five. Derek’s jacket was on his bed, which also meant that he’d arrived home and come into their room for at least a few moments without Stiles noticing.

He could smell the food now that Malia had mentioned it, warmth and spices, and his stomach rumbled.

“Okay, I was in the middle of cross-referencing like a billion books, gimme a minute to make some notes and I’ll be there.”

“Fine, but if you get distracted, we’re eating without you.”

“No you won’t,” Stiles said, confident in the knowledge that Derek was too dedicated to having meals together to start without Stiles and Peter was too vain about his cooking to let it get cold. One of them would come drag him out if Malia wouldn’t. Still, he should try his best not to get distracted in the first place. “Two minutes! I’ll be there.”

* * *

Stiles was very glad he did not let himself get distracted as he moaned obscenely around a mouthful of lamb, basmati rice, and tzatziki. “Peter, I want to marry your cooking.”

“He’s been cooking for us for over a year,” Derek said, his face pinched into the particular glare that meant he was actually embarrassed. “Why aren’t you used to this by now?”

“Why aren’t you used to _me_?” Stiles shot back.

“Yes, we wouldn’t want Stiles to hold back on us,” Peter said with obvious amusement. “I for one take pornographic sounds to be the highest compliment to my cooking.”

He winked at him, and Stiles hoped that Peter (and the others) weren’t paying enough attention to hear the way his heart pounded a little bit faster. It was a dumb reaction anyway; Peter was just teasing, like always.

“Peter!” Derek whined.

Stiles pounced on the welcome interruption. Derek’s glare was reaching constipation levels so intense Stiles could _feel_ his embarrassment, and he laughed, bits of chewed food spewing from his mouth. Across the table, Peter wrinkled his nose.

“Oops.” Stiles swallowed the rest of his mouthful and jabbed his spoon at Peter. “Don’t _teenagers_ me,” he said, inflecting the word with all the exasperation he knew Peter was feeling. “I’m literally not a teen anymore.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Peter said.

“Yeah, well, your face did.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Derek said.

“Stop what?” Stiles asked, and Derek glared at him as if he hadn’t asked a genuine question. Stiles gave him a confused glare back.

“Malia,” Peter said smoothly. “How was class today?”

She scowled at her plate. “It sucked. Next.”

“No, no, you gotta tell us more than that,” Stiles said. “Sharing is caring, remember? Which class sucked?”

“Statistics,” Malia grumbled. “We’re doing regression error and it’s confusing and it sucks.”

Stiles didn’t even know what that meant. “Oof, I’m so glad I never have to take another math class ever again.”

“I can help you,” Derek said.

“Nerd,” Stiles stage-whispered.

“Statistics is a valuable class to take,” Peter said. He was the one who’d recommended Malia take an intro stats course while she was getting gen eds under her belt at the city college, still unsure about what she wanted to do with her future. “Now, can we please stop neglecting the dinner I so lovingly made for everyone?”

They all rolled their eyes, but dinner calmed down after that. Derek started trying to explain regression error, but Malia told him to wait until after dinner so she could take notes. Stiles, who was planning to apply to write an honors thesis next year, thought out loud about potential research topics before he realized Peter was the only one comprehending anything he was saying. Peter complained about a customer who _absolutely needed_ a book within the next couple days but didn’t want to pay for overnight shipping. Derek talked about the three new puppies that had arrived at the shelter where he volunteered.

After dinner, they piled into the living room. Derek and Malia sat on the floor by the coffee table, Malia’s stats textbook open in front of them. Peter sat on the loveseat, reading a worn copy of _Paradise Lost_. Stiles leaned against the armrest on the opposite end and kicked his feet up into Peter’s lap. The hours of focus on his midterm had caught up to him and he didn’t want to do anything brain-intensive, so he just plugged his earbuds in, put on some music, and scrolled through Twitter.

He couldn’t seem to stop glancing up every few minutes, though, just to look at the others and smile. At Malia, with a pencil behind her ear and a highlighter in her mouth, habits she’d picked up from Stiles in high school. At Derek, patiently explaining the same concept to her again and writing out examples on scratch paper. At Peter, licking his finger before turning to the next page of his book and looking utterly relaxed in a way he never had in Beacon Hills.

Peter noticed every time Stiles looked at him. He seemed to understand that Stiles didn’t want anything, and would simply give Stiles a small smile back, sometimes drop a hand to squeeze one of Stiles’s calves on his lap, before going back to his book.

Once, when Stiles looked up as the current song playing faded out into quiet, Peter met his gaze and said, “You’re happy tonight.”

Stiles paused his music before the next song started and considered. He’d been swimming in contentment all evening, he knew, though he didn’t precisely know why. By all accounts, this was a pretty typical evening for them. There was no real reason for all this extra sappiness he was feeling.

Maybe it was just finally sinking in that this was his life now, and that it was good. The last of the Hales… and him. Stiles used to wonder where he fit in that picture, especially as he watched them come together over the months, old relationships repairing and new ones growing.

He still didn’t know where he fit, or how, but at that moment he knew with certainty that he did belong. That this was his family, for better or for worse.

Stiles didn’t know how to explain all that, but he took in the relaxed slope of Peter’s shoulders and thought that maybe he didn’t have to.

“Aren’t you?” Stiles said instead. “Happy?”

Peter didn’t even hesitate before answering. “Yes. I am.”

* * *

When the pack had split up for college, Stiles had tried to make it work. Their bonds were what mattered, not proximity, right?

He and Scott texted every day at first, excitedly telling each other about their classes and dorm activities. Things had calmed down in Beacon Hills in the end, but it still felt so refreshing to talk only about normal 18-year-old stuff, nothing life-threatening or even remotely supernatural coming up in their conversations.

In the end, he couldn’t really blame Scott for wanting to leave everything about that life behind. They’d gone through a lot, more than any kid should ever have to; Stiles could see that now with just a couple years of hindsight. Nowadays, it seemed like being a werewolf was secondary to everything else in Scott’s life.

It hadn’t been all bad, though. At least, not to Stiles. For so long, he’d only had his dad and Scott. Now he had _pack_ , and he didn’t want to let go. He’d been so hung up on the idea of the pack going to the same college and living together, the reality that they all had different ambitions and dream schools had been a crushing disappointment. Stiles had always wanted to go to UC Berkeley but he would’ve changed his plans for the others, and it’d hurt to realize that they wouldn’t do the same for him.

Still, he’d tried. He texted Scott every day, vid-chatted with Lydia and Kira every weekend. Malia had wanted to travel, starting with France, and they worked to make time to catch up with each other despite the time difference.

It wasn’t enough, and Stiles could only stand and watch helplessly, rooted in the past while everyone else pulled away, drawn into new lives and new friends, ones free from danger and tragedy.

Surprisingly, it was Malia who showed up outside Stiles’s dorm room, late one night halfway through the spring semester of his first year at Cal. He knew she’d been back in Beacon Hills for a couple weeks, but she hadn’t said anything about visiting and Stiles hadn’t wanted to feel clingy by asking.

“I really hope you didn’t break the lock to get into the building,” Stiles said.

Malia rolled her eyes. “No, dummy, I waited for someone else to open the door and went in after them.”

“And how did you convince the night guard to let you up?”

“Oh, I knocked her out.”

“Ma—”

“Kidding! I told her I was surprising my friend… and I bribed her.”

Stiles laughed. They hugged, and Stiles took her to the dining hall with Late Night hours.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, cutting into his waffle.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” Malia said. “The distance. So I came back, but it wasn’t being far from home that was the problem, it was being far from…”

“Everyone,” Stiles finished.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it,” Malia muttered, ducking her head. She stabbed at her steak. “Why is this so gray?”

“Because it’s dining hall food,” Stiles said. “And it’s not stupid, because I feel that way too. Hey, Malia,” he said, because Malia was vigorously sawing off a piece of her steak and pointedly not looking at him. “Malia, look at me.”

She did, scowling, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.

“I’m really glad you came here tonight,” Stiles said.

Her scowl softened, though she still looked embarrassed. “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

* * *

Malia came over a lot the rest of the semester, sometimes staying for a couple weeks at a time. Stiles was grateful he had such a chill RA on his floor. Still, it definitely wasn't sustainable, and it was an easy choice for Stiles not to apply to live in a dorm for his second year. Instead, he and Malia started looking for an apartment to share.

Their search dragged on into summer.

“Fucking college towns, why does rent have to be so expensive?” Stiles groaned, crossing another place off from his list. They were looking at one-bedrooms, but even the rent at studio apartments was nothing to sneeze at.

He resigned himself to looking further out—he’d have his Jeep, so at least he wouldn’t have to take the bus, but ugh, parking was hell—but then Malia said, “You know, we could ask Peter for help.”

Stiles stared at her. “What? Really?”

She shrugged. “How do you think I could afford to go to Europe?”

“I… hadn’t thought about that, actually.”

“I mentioned wanting to travel, he offered to pay. He also offered to come with me, since he’s apparently fluent in like six languages. I told him I’d take the money, but that I didn’t want him turning my adventure into his stupid father-daughter time. He wrote me a check and hasn’t spoken to me since.” She grimaced. “Well, I haven’t spoken to him since. I felt bad, but I didn’t know what to say.”

“Well, apologizing for shutting him out followed by immediately asking for help paying for an apartment would be a great way to fix things,” Stiles drawled.

Malia hit his shoulder. “I know it’s bad, okay? But he’d help. I know he would.”

Now, Stiles had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of in his life, but he wasn’t sure he could add taking advantage of Peter’s guilt over a daughter he’d been forced to forget about to that list.

He thought about it for a few days, until he ran into Derek at the grocery store and he realized he had no idea what either Derek or Peter was up to these days.

Apparently, going through the multiple Hale vaults (yes, the Hales had vaults—more than one, even) and liquidating assets.

“We’re keeping some stuff, but Peter’s working on digitizing all the books so we can sell them. There’s normal stuff and supernatural stuff, so we have to figure out what’s what, both so we can get the right prices for them, and so nothing dangerous falls into some innocent human’s hands, or a hunter’s.”

“Whoa,” Stiles said. “Are you guys leaving Beacon Hills?”

Derek shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but he looked sad when he said, “The Hales have lived here for centuries, but there’s not much left for us, and… too many memories.”

Stiles went home with a weight in his stomach.

Derek didn’t know where Peter planned to go, or if he wanted to go with him, but Stiles bet he would in the end. He thought about Derek’s loft, and the whole empty building beneath it. He’d bought that whole building, hoping to fill it with a pack that was now all gone or dead. A guy like Derek needed people. Needed family.

And probably Peter did too, for all that he acted like a lone wolf. Why else stick around? Why try so hard for Malia? He’d lost everyone, too.

Well. Almost everyone.

Stiles called Malia. “What if we asked them to move in with us?”

“Who move what? What are you talking about?”

“Sorry. Peter and Derek. Why don’t we ask them to move in with us, in Berkeley?”

“Okay,” Malia said slowly, not a confirmation, but not outright refusal, either. “Where did this come from?”

Stiles told her about Peter and Derek’s plans to leave. “You came to see me that night because you missed the pack,” he said. “The others, they’re fine where they are. And I’m happy for them, really, but I’m not fine. And I feel stupid about it because I was the one human in the pack but I’m the one who needs it. And so do you, and so do Peter and Derek. So I thought… maybe they can be our pack now.”

Malia was quiet for a long time. Stiles let her think, chewing nervously on the drawstring of his hoodie. It was weird, because he wasn’t especially close with either Peter or Derek, but the more he thought about the idea, the more he wanted it, and he really hoped the others would want it, too.

“Okay,” Malia said finally. “Let’s ask them.”

* * *

To the surprise of probably everyone involved, Peter and Derek agreed.

Maybe they also wanted to see if they could make it work, this misfit group of estranged family members, all shifters with blue eyes, and a formerly-possessed human with too much blood on his hands.

Peter and Stiles looked at apartments together. Options were limited as summer was drawing to a close and Stiles was adamant about contributing to rent, but they ended up finding a three-bedroom apartment close enough to walk to campus, or take the bus if Stiles was feeling lazy. Stiles roomed with Derek, while Peter and Malia got their own rooms.

They tested the waters of their new life. At Peter’s encouragement, Malia enrolled at the city college. Derek got a gym membership. Peter, it turned out, used to love cooking and he took up the hobby again, making dinner for them almost every night and brunch on the weekends.

He cooked the best fucking food Stiles had ever tasted, and he and his dad had gone to a restaurant that had four dollar signs on Yelp after his dad was promoted to sheriff, okay. Stiles knew what expensive food tasted like.

One night, Stiles was trying to do a reading for one of his classes at the kitchen table because he couldn’t get himself to focus in his room. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to major in yet—though he really should figure something out before next semester—so he was working on finishing his school’s gen ed requirements. He was taking Astronomy 10 for the physical science requirement because it was apparently a really popular class, but ugh. Physics.

Maybe he should ask Derek for help. Peter said he was good at science and math stuff.

Peter was sitting at the table with him that night; he did that sometimes, and Stiles never asked why, but he figured Peter had to get sick of working out of his own room all the time—he was still doing the whole ‘digitizing books and researching all the valuable artifacts the Hales had been hoarding for centuries’ thing.

Derek still helped Peter out but he wasn’t super interested in all the details, which Stiles thought was ridiculous because it was pretty much the coolest thing ever. Then again, Malia didn’t care either, so maybe it was just Stiles. And Peter. Peter definitely thought it was cool, and was always happy to tell Stiles about whatever he just learned.

Stiles was reading a paragraph for the third time and thinking about asking Peter if he’d found a buyer for his protective amulet yet when Peter closed his laptop with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. “Perhaps I should consider networking at MythiCon.”

“Mi-what?”

“MythiCon. The Supernatural Mythology Conference. It’s held every fall in Sacramento. They’re very careful about only admitting supernatural creatures, so it’s a safe space for us to connect.”

“Shut the front door,” Stiles said. “I have literally joked about ShifterCon and now you’re telling me it’s an actual thing?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s an academic conference, not a convention. Although, yes, those also exist.”

“Every fall, you said?” Stiles said, excitement growing. “Is it happening soon?”

“In a couple weeks, actually.”

“Oh my god, can we go?” Stiles frowned. “Can _I_ go? I’m not a supernatural creature. Is formerly possessed by an evil fox spirit close enough?”

“You’re pack,” Peter said. “You’d be allowed to attend.”

Stiles grinned and pretended his stomach didn’t flutter at Peter’s quick assurance. They’d only been living together for a couple months at this point, and it was the first time Peter called him _pack_.

“It’s a bit late for it, but I’ll try to secure some passes,” Peter said. “Who knows, maybe the Hale name still holds enough weight. And if not, well, we have the money. Will you ask Malia and Derek if they want to go as well?”

That was something else Peter did sometimes, ask Stiles to be an intermediary between him and the others, especially Malia. Stiles didn’t really mind—he kind of liked the excuse to talk to Peter more—but he hoped they would grow to be more comfortable with each other, in time.

* * *

In the week leading up to MythiCon, Peter had Stiles wear one of his shirts or jackets every day.

“Pack tends to smell like each other,” Peter explained the first time, “but we’ve only lived together for a short time and spend more time in our rooms than the common areas. And we don’t engage in scent-marking behaviors with each other. Understand that you’re a human, and smelling like me will put the other scent-sensitive shifters at the conference at ease.”

“Yeah, no, I totally get it, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable by being there.” Stiles shrugged out of his jacket and pulled Peter’s on. “Do I need to wear Derek and Malia’s clothes too?” he asked, thinking it was a good thing Malia had an oversized sweater she really liked; he wasn’t sure he’d fit in any of her other clothes.

Peter hesitated. “You and Derek share a room, so you probably smell enough like him.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. Peter wasn’t telling him something, but he had no idea what. “Okay, Malia?”

Again he hesitated. When he finally answered, his voice was low and reluctant. “It’s… more important that you smell like me, since I’ll be acting as the de facto alpha at the conference. If it makes you uncomfortable—”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Stiles said. “You’re the de facto alpha at home too, aren’t you? I mean, you pay for, like, almost everything, you cook for us… That’s pretty alpha-like behavior, I’d say.”

“Considering your last experience of me as an alpha,” Peter said, the words coming out slowly like he was carefully testing each one, “I wasn’t sure you’d want…”

“It’s been a long time,” Stiles said. “And a lot has changed. You’ve changed. I’ve changed. You take good care of us, and as long as that’s true I’m happy to accept you as my alpha.”

Peter seemed at a loss for words. He studied Stiles’s face, as if searching for a lie, but he wouldn’t find any, because Stiles meant every word.

Gently, Peter took hold of Stiles’s wrist and lifted it carefully to his face. Stiles’s stomach jumped as a memory from a lifetime ago rushed to the surface, of standing in a parking garage as Peter grasped his wrist and offered him the Bite. Last time, Stiles had snatched his arm away as Peter had opened his mouth, fangs extending. This time, Stiles stood and watched as Peter slid the cuff of Stiles’s sleeve down, pressed his nose to the bare skin of his wrist and inhaled deeply.

“Thank you,” Peter murmured.

Stiles shivered at the brush of lips against his skin. It was all he could do to nod.

* * *

MythiCon was incredible. Stiles’s only problem was that all the talks sounded so interesting, and some of them ran concurrently. And also they had to carve out time for lunch or whatever.

“Look at this.” Stiles jabbed his finger at the program. “ _The Modern Werewolf: Long-Distance Packs in the Digital Age_.”

He frowned. If it was doable, why hadn’t he been able to do it?

Peter touched his shoulder. He’d been really tactile with Stiles lately. Maybe he was trying to get more of his scent on Stiles or something. Stiles would miss it after MythiCon was over and they didn’t have to worry so much about Stiles smelling like Peter—like pack, that is.

“How about this one?” Peter said, pointing to another panel in the same time slot. “ _The Kitsune Diaspora in North America_.”

“Oh wow,” Stiles said. “Yeah, that sounds good. I wonder if Kira would be interested in learning about it too.”

They hadn’t stopped being friends—he still talked to the others, even if it wasn’t as often. Scott and Lydia rarely talked about supernatural stuff anymore, but kitsune took a long time to mature, and Kira was still coming into her power. Just last month, she’d told Stiles that she’d earned her second tail.

Stiles circled the kitsune panel on his program. He started scanning the rest of the program, then looked up at Peter, worried, as a thought occurred. “Are you sure you don’t mind going to these with me? If there’s something else you’d rather do…”

Peter hadn’t wanted them to split up at the conference, but Malia had gotten bored after just the keynote. There was a supernatural-owned small business fair in one of the exhibit halls; Derek had agreed to go with Malia, but that meant Peter was stuck with Stiles.

“I don’t mind,” Peter said. “I’m interested in all of these, too. I do want to go to the networking event later, though.”

“Oh yeah, to find other people who deal in magical artifacts and stuff, right? Sounds good, you just might have to remind me ‘cause I’ll probably get caught up in everything and forget.”

“I’ll remind you,” Peter said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Now, since you seem to have forgotten, the first talk you wanted to go to starts in ten minutes in Room B.”

“Oh, shit. Let’s go!”

* * *

They met back up with Derek and Malia for lunch. Derek and Malia had gotten there first, and they’d found an empty table, so Derek stayed behind to hold it (“Just order me whatever.”) while Malia dragged Stiles and Peter into line for a werecoyote-owned, all-vegan food truck. Malia was very skeptical about the whole vegan meat thing, but apparently she’d met the daughter of the owner at the business fair and promised to try it.

“Look!” Malia held up a tote bag with MythiCon’s logo on it; she’d refused to leave it behind at the table even though Derek offered to watch it. “I got a lot of free stuff!”

She showed them, genuinely excited even though it was mostly pens and buttons. Stiles liked free stuff too so he got it, while Peter’s smile was much more indulging. One of the things Malia pulled out was a werewolf whistle, which just looked like a dog whistle to Stiles, but he wasn’t gonna say it. By the way Peter elbowed him, he must have got the message anyway.

“And,” Malia said, pulling out a cubic cardboard box, “look what I bought!”

Printed on the box was a picture of a mug. The logo said COYOTEA.

“Niiice,” Stiles said. “They saw the opportunity, and they took it.”

Malia frowned. “What?”

“Uh,” Stiles said. “The pun? I assume it’s a werecoyote-owned business that sells tea? Coyote, tea, coyo _tea_?”

Malia stared at the picture on the box. She guffawed. “That’s awesome.”

She put the mug back in her tote bag as they shuffled forward in line. “Did you have fun at your nerdy talks?”

“ _So_ much,” Stiles said, and proceeded to talk their ears off all the way to the front of the line and back to the table.

“Just—it’s so cool,” he said around a mouthful of vegan burger. “Imagine, getting to research this stuff for a living. Going to conferences and meeting all these cool people. How can I do that?”

“Generally, by getting a PhD in Folklore and Mythology,” Peter said.

“Wait, really?” Stiles said, mouth hanging open. Bits of burger fell out.

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Teenagers,” he muttered, even though Stiles was only a few months away from turning twenty. “No manners. But yes, really. What, did you think there were underground supernatural colleges? Every scholar here went to a regular university and got a regular degree. The difference is they had the resources to tell fact from fiction in all the literature that they read and wrote about.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “I know what I want to major in.”

Peter grinned at him. “You’ll be amazing at it.”

* * *

UC Berkeley had a Master’s program for Folklore, but not a Bachelor’s, which Stiles learned at MythiCon.

MythiCon hosted a few different networking events—Stiles had been intrigued by the one for werewolves looking to join a pack or expand their pack (“How does that work? Is it like speed dating?” “I don’t know, Stiles, I’ve never been to one.” “Oh, right.”)—but they just went to the general one in the end.

Peter said it was okay if they split up since it was all one room, so Stiles wandered around until he recognized a guest from one of the panels he’d attended, and struck up a conversation. A couple other people joined in, and one of them turned out to be a UC Berkeley alum. They broke off to have their own conversation, and she recommended that Stiles study anthropology for his undergraduate degree, and gave him her email in case he had any questions.

Back at their apartment, Stiles looked up Cal’s anthropology program and realized that he’d already taken one of the lower div pre-reqs to fulfill another gen ed requirement, which just left two others.

The very next semester, Stiles declared his major.

* * *

Had it really been almost a year now, since everything changed?

“Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic,” Stiles said.

Peter lowered his book, resting it on Stiles’s shins. He didn’t say anything, but the quirk of his eyebrows encouraged Stiles to go on.

“MythiCon is next month,” Stiles said. They already had their passes, and Stiles was stoked to go again, especially now that he actually recognized the names of some of the speakers from papers he’d read, both for class and for fun. “And going last year kind of changed my life, so…”

It wasn’t just figuring out what he wanted to study at school. It was like everything had clicked into place after MythiCon.

Stiles started spending even more time with Peter. Part of it was because Peter was genuinely interested in Stiles’s chosen field of study (and Stiles couldn’t wait until he could really take full advantage of Peter’s digital archive of mythology books—he was going to have access to the _best_ resources, he was going to be the _queen bee_ of anthropology majors), part of it was… something else.

He’d thought Peter would stop being so tactile with him after the conference last year, but if anything, he was more. A hand at the back of his neck, fingers brushing over his forearm. Eventually, Stiles started doing it back.

It wasn’t until after it’d bled into doing it with Derek and Malia too that Stiles realized that these were the scent-marking behaviors Peter had mentioned. And that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because it meant that their fumbling attempt to live together was turning into something real. They were becoming pack.

And now, in the living room, stretched across the couch with his feet in Peter’s lap, with Derek and Malia watching him from across the coffee table, Stiles knew that this was it. They were family. They were more than family—they were pack.

And they meant everything in the world to Stiles.

“Oh god, tone it down,” Malia groaned.

Stiles frowned. “What? I’m not even saying anything.”

Derek checked Malia with his shoulder and glared at her.

“What?” Malia said. “I tried being nice and patient like you said, but if he keeps feeling so sappy, I will die.”

“Can you really smell it that much?” Stiles asked. He really had to ask Peter if there were any werewolf-written biology papers on chemosignals or something, because he still didn’t get how they worked.

“No, dummy,” Malia said, “I can feel it.”

That made even less sense. “What?”

“Your pack bond,” Derek said.

“You said that like it explains everything, and I need you to know that it explained nothing,” Stiles said. “What pack bond?”

“You know,” Malia said.

“Please try to remember that Stiles is not a born shifter,” Peter said dryly. He had a hand on Stiles’s ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the bone.

“Yes, and Stiles is very confused,” Stiles said. Derek had told him before about the intrinsic bonds he’d had with his betas, and of course Scott had had a bond with Peter in those months after he’d first been bitten, but… “I thought humans couldn’t feel pack bonds.”

“They can,” Derek said. “It usually takes longer to manifest for a human than a wolf, but they definitely can. Our family had humans, remember, and we were all bonded.”

“But…” Stiles flailed. This didn’t make sense.

Peter squeezed his ankle. “Close your eyes.”

Stiles, at a loss, did what he was told.

“Focus on us,” Peter said. “Each of us, one at a time.”

He did, reaching for Peter first, and he could feel it. He almost imagined he could see it, a shimmering golden cord of light tying the two of them together. In it he felt Peter’s patience, and a deep affection for Stiles, for his pack.

Stiles shifted focus to Derek. There was fondness there, and a quiet, heartbreaking sort of joy that he could finally feel the person he’d considered his pack for maybe even longer than they’d been living together.

In Malia, he felt impatience—hilarious, but fitting—that fell away to contentment as Stiles’s own confusion subsided into wonder.

When Stiles opened his eyes, they were wet with tears. “I can feel you,” he said, hushed. “All of you.”

“And we can feel you,” Peter said.

“A lot,” Malia interjected.

“I thought you knew,” Derek said. “I thought that was why you were feeling so…”

“Grossly sentimental?” Malia said.

Derek rolled his eyes but didn’t contradict her. “Some part of you must have recognized unconsciously that your pack bond had manifested.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t get it. Scott was an alpha for almost two years when we were in Beacon Hills and I never…”

“Scott and the others,” Peter said slowly, haltingly. “You were friends, certainly. And you worked together. But you were never really pack in the way you behaved and operated.”

“It’s not his fault,” Derek said. “He was turned, not born, and he became an alpha under extraordinary circumstances. The instincts wouldn’t have come as naturally.”

“You could have taught him,” Stiles said.

“Don’t you think I tried? He was never very willing to listen to me.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said wryly. “I guess that’s true.” He looked around at each of the others. He lingered on Peter, and when he focused on their bond he could feel a hint of anxiety there. Like he was worried Stiles might reject them.

That was just stupid. Couldn’t he feel Stiles’s happiness, his deep-seated sense of belonging? Nothing in the world had ever felt so right.

“Scott’s my brother,” Stiles said. “But you guys are my pack. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Triplet flares of affection pulsed in him, warm and bright.

* * *

“It’s kind of weird, though,” Stiles said later that night.

They’d retired to their bedrooms. Stiles had invited himself onto Derek’s bed and was lying with his head on Derek’s stomach. He was feeling extra cuddly after all the revelations, okay?

He lifted his hand, palm flat toward the ceiling, and alternated closing each eye, drawing idle amusement from the way his hand seemed to jump side to side as he switched his field of vision.

Derek caught Stiles’s hand in his own. “What’s weird?”

“Well, I can feel all of you guys, but I can kind of feel Peter more? Um, more strongly, I mean? Like right now, I can feel you’re curious but we’re right next to each other, like literally touching. I have to concentrate to feel Malia, but she feels amused. She’s probably looking at memes on Twitter or something. But I barely have to concentrate to feel Peter, and his room’s farther from us than Malia’s.”

“And how does Peter feel?” Derek asked.

“Happy,” Stiles said. “Really happy.”

“Hm,” Derek said. He played with Stiles’s fingertips. “Even though Peter’s not an alpha by status, he’s still our alpha in all the ways that matter. That could be why you feel a stronger bond with him.”

“But that’s not the only reason?” Stiles said. “Oh my god, what’s the other reason and why do you feel embarrassed about it?”

“Probing at my emotions is cheating,” Derek said, embarrassment growing. “Stop that.”

“Nope,” Stiles said cheerfully. “Come on, tell me. Tell me tell me tell me.”

“You two are closer!” Derek burst out. “You feel… more… for each other.”

Now it was Stiles’s turn to feel embarrassed, because he really should have considered the fact that this pack bond being a two-way street meant that his gigantic crush on Peter was now out there for all of them (for _Peter_ , oh shit) to see.

Derek squeezed his fingers. “It’s not like that.”

Stiles stared at him. “Don’t tell me you can read my mind now, too.”

Derek snorted. “No, you’re just painfully obvious. Love is… complicated. Nuanced. I couldn’t say for sure that what you feel for Peter is romantic based on the pack bond. I _can_ say for sure that it’s romantic based on the fact that you’re embarrassing and obvious.”

“I hate you,” Stiles said without heat.

It made sense. Peter, Derek, Malia—they all loved him, he could feel it, and each love felt unique in ways Stiles couldn’t describe. Derek loved Stiles in the way that Derek loved Stiles. That was all there was to it. Malia loved Stiles in the way that Malia loved Stiles. Peter…

“So… how does Peter feel about me, romance-wise?” Stiles asked.

“I just told you it doesn’t work like that,” Derek said.

“And then you told me that you could tell anyway.”

“That’s because you wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“And Peter doesn’t?”

He thought back to last summer, when Malia’d had a date. Specifically, a date with Kira. Stiles knew they talked sometimes, but hadn’t realized they’d gotten that close until Kira and her family were in San Francisco for a week on business and Malia was suddenly very antsy about wanting to go on a drive by herself, and also antsy about what to wear for said drive.

They’d all run to her room when they heard her shout, only to find that she’d gotten her hairbrush stuck in her hair. Then the excuses started pouring.

“Just admit it’s a date and I’ll take pity on you,” Peter said, obviously stifling laughter.

“It’s not a date,” Malia said, alternating holding two shirts against her chest and glaring at herself in the mirror.

Stiles grinned. “I don’t need werewolf senses to tell that you’re lying.”

“Okay, lay off,” Derek said. He’d been trying unsuccessfully to drag Peter and Stiles out of Malia’s room for the past five minutes.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped. “Do you know something we don’t?”

“I know you’re being annoying.”

“At least tell me their name,” Peter said. “So we can run a full background check, see if it’s anyone we should be worried about—you know, the usual. I’ve never actually given the shovel talk before, did you know?”

“Oh my god, Dad, you know Kira!” Malia’s eyes widened, and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

“Kira’s great, I—” Stiles started.

“Not Dad!” Malia said quickly. “You’re not my dad!”

Peter opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, and said, “Technically—”

Malia bowled over him. “You may have birthed me, but you’re not my dad!”

Derek made a noise like he was dying.

“Peter definitely did not birth you,” Stiles said after a moment.

“You know what I meant.”

“You don’t have to call me dad, or think of me as your father,” Peter said, and Stiles could tell he meant it but there was something strained in his voice, too.

“Should I start calling you ‘Uncle Peter’ again?” Derek teased.

Stiles frowned, feeling weirdly left out. “What should I call you?”

“Just ‘Peter’ is fine,” he said dryly. He plucked one of the shirts from Malia’s hands and hung it back up in the closet. “Wear that one,” he said, nodding at the one he’d left. “It brings out your eyes.” He put a hand on the back of her neck and leaned close. He didn’t quite press his nose into her hair, but Stiles watched the way he closed his eyes and inhaled before he let go.

Malia stared at him. “Thank you, _Peter_.”

Peter smiled at her, his eyes bright with emotion. “Enjoy your date, sweetheart,” he said, and strode from the room.

Malia did, in fact, enjoy it immensely, and even though Kira was now back in New York, the two were still going strong. And Peter was so happy for them, Stiles knew. He’d invited the Yukimuras over for dinner before they left San Francisco, and pulled out all the stops. Stiles went with Peter to the farmer’s market like he did every week, and he’d never seen him so stressed out about picking the perfect mangos.

There had been no shovel talk.

“Peter cares about his pack, that’s obvious,” Derek acknowledged.

“But _romance_ ,” Stiles said. “Come on, Dr. Love Expert, I need to know if Peter will throw me into a wall if I try to jump his bones.”

“Never talk to me about my uncle like that again,” Derek said, dropping Stiles’s hand. Stiles had totally forgotten that Derek had been holding it, and he squawked as it crash-landed on his face. “I don’t know, okay? He obviously likes you a lot. If you want my opinion, yes, he’s totally gone on you. But I can’t say it for sure. He’s not obvious like you about that stuff.”

“Fuck it, I’ll just ask him,” Stiles said. He sprang up from the bed.

“Don’t…” Derek sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Don’t break his heart.”

“Uh, what about my heart? I’m the one we know is in love with him.”

“Stiles,” Derek said. “He’s been through a lot. He’s happy now, and I don’t want him to lose that.”

“He won’t,” Stiles said. “I don’t want him to lose it either. I won’t pressure him or anything, and if nothing comes of it, it’s fine. Just—I don’t care what you say about the pack bonds, I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to tell that I’m horribly in love with him eventually. At least… I want him to know that it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same.”

Derek nodded, and Stiles recognized the sharp swell of emotion over their bond. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it felt a lot like the grief-colored joy Stiles still felt sometimes with his dad, suddenly wishing that a certain someone was still around to share in the moment with them.

“I love you, dude,” Stiles said.

Derek’s mouth quirked. “Love you, too.”

He stood and hugged Stiles, pressing his nose to his neck and breathing in.

“Go talk to Peter,” Derek said. “But if you do get together, I don’t want to hear any details _ever_.”

Stiles winked. “Wish me luck.”

* * *

There was a dim light coming from beneath the door to Peter’s bedroom, so Stiles let himself in without knocking.

Peter sat leaning against the headboard of his bed, reading by the light of his bedside lamp. He looked up when Stiles came in.

“One of these days I’ll teach you manners,” he said.

“Nah, you like me better like this,” Stiles said.

He shut the door behind him and climbed into the bed. Peter closed his book and set it on the nightstand, and Stiles crawled onto his lap. He anchored his hands on Peter’s shoulders, pressed his nose to his neck and breathed deeply in, like how Derek had scented him just moments ago. Stiles wasn’t a wolf, couldn’t smell anything besides a faint whiff of Peter’s soap, but Peter always seemed to really like it when Stiles did the gesture to him, and Stiles liked doing it to Peter.

Peter settled his hand over the nape of Stiles’s neck and squeezed. “Are you okay? I’ve heard it can be overwhelming for humans, when they first experience the pack bond.”

Stiles pulled back and flopped over to sit beside Peter, their shoulders pressed up together. “Nah, I’m good. I was just talking to Derek about some stuff, and, well. I love you guys,” he said quickly. “All of you. That’s not gonna change.”

Shit, he was getting nervous now, and he could feel it reflected back at him from Peter.

“I’m in love with you,” Stiles said quietly. “I have been for a while now. Derek said you wouldn’t be able to tell from the pack bond, but, I dunno. I wanted to tell you in case you found out anyway, and it made things awkward. I don’t want things to be awkward. Unless I’m making things awkward by telling you now, then—”

“Stiles,” Peter said.

Stiles clicked his teeth shut.

“Are you sure?” Peter said.

“Huh?”

“What if I can’t… love you right?” Peter said. “I’m damaged.”

“You’re a nerd who reads Milton and gives one hundred percent tips at the farmer’s market, is what you are,” Stiles said. “And you love me just fine already. I didn’t tell you my feelings because I wanted you to do something about it. I just wanted you to know.”

Peter rolled over suddenly, and they were in a reverse of their positions from earlier, Peter straddling Stiles’s lap with his hands on his shoulders.

“And if I wanted to do something about it?” Peter said. He leaned forward, but instead of dropping his face to his neck like Stiles had, he kept their eyes in line. “If I wanted you the way you want me?”

Stiles exhaled a little shakily. All he had to do was tip his head forward just a tiny bit and they’d be kissing. “I—I’d say that would be ideal.”

“Good,” Peter whispered, and claimed his lips with his own.

* * *

Something changed overnight. Stiles felt it.

He breathed slowly and studied Peter’s sleeping features. He didn’t look any different, but he was all the same.

Stiles smiled, tracing idle patterns over Peter’s bare chest, scratching his fingers through the coarse hairs. He could tell the moment Peter woke and realized something was different; he didn’t open his eyes, but his nose twitched and his eyes screwed more tightly shut, forehead creasing in a frown.

Stiles cupped Peter’s cheek, and the frown faded. “Good morning, love,” he whispered. “Can you show me your eyes?”

Peter swallowed and nodded slightly. When he opened his eyes for Stiles, they glowed red.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! this is my last fic for steter week, and i had a lot of fun participating! :D
> 
> talk to me on [tumblr](https://qorktrees.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/qorktree) !!


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